


Gifts from the Empty-Handed

by Damkianna



Category: Conan the Barbarian (1980s Movies)
Genre: Courting Rituals, Cultural Differences, F/F, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 13:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20866826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damkianna/pseuds/Damkianna
Summary: The first of the courting gifts sent by the king of Dar Alraïm arrived in Shadizar with the rains.





	Gifts from the Empty-Handed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [galerian_ash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/galerian_ash/gifts).

> ♥ AGAIN (Which is to say: thank you for the excuse to canon-review, and bless you for the prompts! :D Title from the poem "[Gift from the Empty-Handed](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?contentId=17326)" by Marion Strobel.)

The first of the courting gifts sent by the king of Dar Alraïm arrived in Shadizar with the rains.

The dry season had been long, and hot. A relief, after the way the sky had darkened, the sudden unnatural swell of clouds, on the day Conan had killed a god—a relief, that the dry season had settled again upon the land, and carried on as ever.

The reign of the new queen had begun in much the same way. A relief, to her timid and terrified subjects, after the chaos and confusion of it all: the death of Queen Taramis upon her own dais at Dagoth's hand, and her chief hierophant impaled by the woman who had then been named captain of the royal guard, with Bombaata too found dead—very confusing indeed. Especially when so few who had been in the grand royal hall that day had survived it.

Zula had heard all the stories told of it afterward, and every variation. Some of them were almost true. Most of them were not.

But she _had_ been named captain of Jehnna's royal guard. That had taken up a great deal of her time, at first. They did things differently in Shadizar, with their armor and their shields, their big heavy blades. But they did at least know how to fight. After the first two or three times someone had challenged Zula for command and had been beaten, they had seen enough to decide she knew what she was doing.

She hadn't had to watch them so closely, after that. They had started to trust her, and listen to her.

Which meant she had had time to watch Jehnna instead.

Jehnna had been taught pride, and command. But she had never been taught how to be a queen. Why would Taramis have bothered, when she had known all along where Jehnna's path had been meant to end? And, of course, even if she had—it wasn't as though it would have served Jehnna well, to learn a queen's work from a woman like Taramis.

But she wasn't alone. Even after Conan had left—there had still been Akiro, there had still been Malak. There had still been Zula.

Akiro was wise, and knew people's ways; when to speak and when not to, and what to say. He had much to teach Jehnna, as her advisor and court wizard. Malak was clever; he hid it very well—sometimes too well—but it was true, and people said things in front of a man they thought was stupid that they wouldn't say in front of a man they knew was not. He knew the ways of traps, of locks and of keys, and how to kill fast with little knives. And Zula—

Zula thought too much of Jehnna.

Jehnna thought too much of Conan, and Zula knew it, and still, still, she was undone. It would have been easy to let go of, if she had left when Conan had. But Jehnna had offered her a place, and she had wanted it; she had grabbed it and taken it.

Once, she'd had only a few things to think of too much in that way. That night by the fire in the forest, in their camp: her staff, Jehnna's slim graceful hands upon it, Zula's arms close around her—only to show her how to hold it, but still, that was enough. Jehnna's hair, Jehnna's laugh; the purse of her mouth when she was displeased, the steady sure way she had reached out to touch a shining stone that had burned a man to nothing only a moment before.

Little things. That had been all.

But then, soon after the nights had begun to stretch out long and hot, Jehnna had started screaming in the dark. Zula had gone running through the palace to her, had found her shaking on the floor in her chambers; hadn't known what to do but hold her till she stopped. Jehnna had told her, then, in pieces, weeping: that she'd dreamed of Dagoth as a girl, though she hadn't known him for what he was then—that she dreamed no longer of gods, but of that vile old hierophant. Of the stone beneath her knees, the strange drugged stupor that had held her there before him. Of the knife in his hand.

She had begged Zula not to leave her. Had bid her stay, that night and every other, until her queen slept at peace. And then had bitten her lip, like she hadn't meant the words to escape. But Zula had decided she didn't mind it.

After all, it kept her from her own dreams about that blade, about Jehnna's throat beneath it.

That had been the beginning.

Then—well. Jehnna had still wanted to learn the staff. Malak and his little knives were all well and good, but what if she had no little knives to hand? Little knives were harder to come by than sticks.

Zula hadn't been able to argue with that.

So they'd kept each other's company not only through the night, but the day, too. Jehnna tossed her head, yes, and sighed, yes, and was willful. These things hadn't changed. But she learned quickly, and she grew stronger. She listened; she laughed. She let Zula show her how to hold the staff, how to move with it—how to hit, and hit hard, and never give ground. She—

She touched Zula, all the time. She touched Zula, and smiled. She was lovely and a little frightened and didn't mean to let anyone know it, and still stupid sometimes but she tried hard not to be.

And Zula had already thought of her too much, and didn't think of her less.

She was becoming a queen in truth, as well as in name, and that was as it should be.

So it was no surprise—it should not have been a surprise—that the king of Dar Alraïm would send her courting gifts.

For that was what they were, Zula learned.

At first she thought it was only tribute. There was a great deal of that even now, petty kings and clan chiefs daring to hope for goodwill from Jehnna they could never have won from Taramis.

But these gifts weren't gold for Shadizar's coffers, nor a thousand measures of wine or oil or salt in sealed jars, nor even sapling fruit trees strapped to the sides of elephants.

A great chest of hard dark wood, on poles, carried on the shoulders of slaves. And when it was lowered to the dais at Jehnna's feet and opened, by the messenger who bore the seal of the king of Dar Alraïm, it was all jewels.

Jewels, cleverly worked and set, bound with chains of red gold and yellow gold, bronze and silver. Necklaces, and bracelets, and anklets; armbands, and rings for fingers and toes and noses, and a thousand different ornaments that could be braided into a queen's hair, or draped from her fine strong shoulders.

The messenger bowed low—pressed his forehead to the floor, and then came up again upon his knees and declaimed some great long oration, all about King Ardamir and his good wishes, and Jehnna and her many virtues, and how humbly he hoped she might be pleased by his gifts. That he was a king without a queen, and that he had an offer to make to a queen without a king, which he dared to believe might not displease her.

Zula heard only a little of it. She couldn't stop looking at the chest, at the shining baubles that spilled from it, at Jehnna's clasped hands and level chin and flushed cheeks.

Jehnna didn't move. She stood and listened to the messenger, and looked at the gifts, and said nothing. When the messenger was finished, she thanked him, and bade him thank King Ardamir with equal eloquence—once he had been made welcome and had rested, of course, and refreshed himself, for he was a guest of Shadizar and his every need would be seen to. She had the chest borne away, though she hadn't touched it or anything within it.

And as it was lifted up and carried off again, she looked at Zula, and then away, and Zula felt her heart beat hard and told herself she didn't know why.

It was only later, in her royal chambers with Zula, that Jehnna tried any of it on.

"Malak says it's all real," she told Zula, lifting up a round flat necklace, wide and collaring in the style of distant Kemti. "At least as best he can tell."

"And how much did he take?" Zula said, flat.

Jehnna laughed. "Oh, only a couple of rings, I think. He was very considerate." She held the necklace up against herself, gleaming gold round the base of her throat and trailing over her shoulders. "What do you think?"

Zula looked away. "It's well enough," she said.

As if any ornament in all the world could have made Jehnna _less_ lovely. Perhaps there was at least one such; perhaps Zula could go and find it, and make Jehnna wear it daily, and give herself a little peace that way.

"You aren't even looking," Jehnna said, accusing, and then sighed. Zula heard clinking, the necklace returned to its place and something new lifted out. Chains, Zula saw, risking a glance. A bracelet, coiling and intricate, and rings likewise, and the set was linked by chains, impossibly delicate across the slim length of Jehnna's hand when she slid the bracelet on.

"What is all this even for?" she said, perhaps more harshly than she should have.

"Well," Jehnna said, tilting her hand this way and that admiringly, "King Ardamir would like me to be his queen."

"You are already queen," Zula said.

"Yes, but—" Jehnna stopped and shook her head, and looked at Zula in a shy sidelong way. "In your tribe, don't you—don't you have a way to be together, to decide that you are for each other and no one else?"

"Not with chests of jewels," Zula said, feeling her mouth twist unbidden.

It was beautiful, all of it. It would be no wonder if Jehnna liked it, and chose to keep it, and considered it precious. And yet Zula couldn't stop wishing Jehnna would make a face at it all, and decide that however fine it was, it wasn't fine enough for her, and throw it on the floor—

"Then how?"

"I told you," Zula said. "You pick, that's all. You live together. You fight together. You stay. If you don't want to stay—you leave, you pick someone else."

Jehnna was still looking at her; watching her, steady, quiet, bright-eyed. "I like that," she said softly. And then she looked down at her hand, at that lovely bracelet and those pretty little rings: at the chains that bound them to each other. "But I don't think it will be that simple for me." She was silent for a moment. And then she added, "Dar Alraïm is a great kingdom, you know. Not large, but rich. It would make a fine ally. It would be—wise, to consider it."

And she slid the bracelet, the rings, from her hand, and let them fall into the chest with a bright singing chime of metal.

(What Zula had once said to Jehnna, she had meant. If you wanted someone, if you had your heart set on them—you grabbed them, and you took them; and they stayed or they didn't. That was how it worked, in her tribe.

But Shadizar was different, and Jehnna was different. Zula didn't know the rules, and she had no chests of shining stones with which to court a queen.)

There were more gifts, over the next few days.

More, and more. King Ardamir had planned it all out very well, Zula began to think, to have sent so many messengers, to have a new one reach Shadizar each day.

Or perhaps it was only that there were ten of them, camped on the plain below the citadel, and one went in with his own entourage each morning. The thought made Zula snort.

However he had done it, it was done. The second day it was all silk. Silk and fine linen, dyed or embroidered, bright and rich and beautiful. The third day, a single horse—because Dar Alraïm was famed for its horses, even Zula knew that much. And twenty horses, fifty, would have been tribute, but one strong fine mare was for the queen of Shadizar alone. The fourth day, a pretty little fox, tamed, with a pretty little collar of gold.

On and on and on. Jehnna was gracious, pleased; admired the silks, accepted the mare, clapped her hands over the fox and petted it—that gift, Zula thought, was definitely going to be kept. And she bade each messenger rest and be refreshed for the night, and return to his master in the morning with her thanks and her great appreciation.

And yet she gave none of them a true answer.

They showed no sign of displeasure, no impatience. They only bowed low and withdrew. But they must have felt it, surely. _Zula_ felt it—for the answer must come, and waiting for it had become nearly as great a trial as its arrival would be.

It made her tense, in a way that felt almost like anger. It was as though she and Jehnna had fought, argued, except that they hadn't.

She still went to Jehnna's chamber, in the evenings, and stood and guarded her dreams till she slept in peace—but she did it in silence, and Jehnna hardly looked at her.

The night after the fourth day, though, she could bear it no longer.

She hadn't left Jehnna alone in the night, not since the first time Jehnna had woken screaming after Dagoth's defeat. But it had never been so difficult as it was now, to climb the curving stair that led up to the queen's chambers, and to step within them; to see Jehnna there waiting for her, Zula's and yet not Zula's at all, so close but still much too far away to—to reach out and take.

And she stood there and looked at Jehnna, and found herself saying, "You'll have to answer him sooner or later."

Jehnna gazed back at her in silence for a long moment, eyes wide, chin high. "Yes," she said at last, very clear and level. "I suppose I will. They have all been very fine gifts, haven't they?"

"Fine enough," Zula bit out.

"And to have Dar Alraïm bound to us—our borders to the west would be secure, then," Jehnna added, because, Zula thought, she'd never met a warning she wished to heed. "There are reasons to think well of it. There are reasons to say yes. And—"

She stopped there.

Zula bit her tongue, and let the silence carry on as long as she could. "And?" she spat, when it had been too long by half.

"And," Jehnna said coolly, "no one has given me any reasons to say no."

Zula looked away. "Then it sounds as if your choice is made," she said, sharp.

Jehnna stood. "I don't know," she said. "Is it? Zula—"

"What do you want?" Zula said to her, hard angry words like a flurry of blows. "I have—"

She stopped, and clenched her hands tight around her staff. The only thing in the world that was hers; the staff, and the clothing she wore, and her hands and her head and her heart.

But how could that ever be enough?

"I have only one reason to give you," she heard herself say. "And if I put it in your hand, it would take but a single earring from the treasury of the king of Dar Alraïm in the other to outweigh it."

Jehnna was staring at her. "_Zula_," she said, and Zula didn't know what to call her voice, it was a dozen things at once; breathless and startled and bewildered, dismayed, frustrated. "You—grab. That's what you said. If you want things, you grab them, and you take them."

"In my tribe," Zula said, "yes. But that isn't how it's done in Shadizar."

"_Zula_," Jehnna said again, and crossed the chamber to her, and put her hands over Zula's where they were tight around the staff. She stopped, then, and pressed her mouth into a line, and sighed a thwarted little sigh through her nose. "If we are measuring in gifts—you've been giving me gifts from the beginning. Don't you know that?" She shook the staff a little in their shared grip. "The staff alone—how to hold it, how to fight with it. You didn't have to teach me that, but you did, just because I asked.

"My aunt's grand vizier, you—you killed him before he could touch me. You tell me stories, you stay with me in the night so that I sleep without dreams. You've given me your protection and your help and your advice, your companionship. You think you've come to me empty-handed? Zula—"

She paused there, and shook her head, and laughed a little.

"Really, you've been courting me much longer than the king of Dar Alraïm. And that means if anyone is owed an answer from me, it's you."

And then she lifted her hands to Zula's face, and drew her down, and kissed her.

"I thought if you wanted me, you'd grab me," she said against Zula's mouth, and kissed her some more. "But you didn't, you wouldn't, and I didn't know why—"

Zula reached for the wall behind her, and leaned her staff blindly against it; caught Jehnna's waist in her hands, now that they were free, and drew her in close. "This is not how we kiss in my tribe," she said, leaning down, murmuring against the curve of Jehnna's ear so that Jehnna shivered against her.

"Oh?"

"There is much less talking," Zula said.

And Jehnna tipped her head back and laughed, and her mouth was red with kissing already. Pity the poor king of Dar Alraïm, Zula thought, who was rich and ruled a fine kingdom all his own and gave beautiful gifts, and yet would find himself dismissed empty-handed; and then she took Jehnna's laughing face in her hands and kissed her again.


End file.
